Unwell
by jkdg3461
Summary: Set four years after the Battle of Hogwarts in DH. SLASH. MPREG. Draco's feeling a bit off, and no Muggle can help him. Unfortunately, he gets a bit more than he bargained for when he steps into the Healer's office...
1. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy

**A/N:** Dedicated to all my reviewers, except the ones that said "This is _sort of_ interesting" and "It is _almost_ very good so far". (Gee, you sure know how to compliment a girl!)

Oh, and it's also dedicated to anyone who loves a fluffy little pre-slashlet. And to Hayley, of course (get well soon, hon, if you're sick, and if you're not sick, just wagging… Ooh, naughty).

Hey, if you like it, I'll continue it.

**.-xXXx-.**

Draco stared down at the two white pills in his palm and sighed.

He looked at the little bottle sitting on the table and sighed again.

_Maybe this isn't such a good idea_, he thought, pouring himself a glass of water.

"It's what the doctor ordered," he reprimanded himself loudly, his voice echoing around the empty bedroom, and he forced the pills down his throat.

He collapsed back into the pillows and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep. The only problem was, when he woke up, he was vomiting again.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Mr. Malfoy, I honestly cannot understand this," the doctor said seriously, leaning back in his chair.

Draco looked around the tiny office, with its imitation pleather chairs and threadbare carpet.

"I didn't expect you to," he muttered, wrinkling his nose at the cheap red vase to his right, which was filled with dying flowers.

The doctor ignored him and said, "Really, if I wasn't quite sure that you were a man, I'd think you were pregnant."

Then he ducked as the vase shattered at a spot just above his head. Draco growled something incoherent and stormed out of the office, taking care to slam the door behind him.

**.-xXXx-.**

"The nerve of some people!" Draco raged, slamming around his empty apartment. There was no more to it. He would have to go to St. Mungo's and see a healer, not the stupid Muggle doctors he had become accustomed to.

Ever since Voldemort had been defeated, Draco had melted into the Muggle world. The only wizard he kept regular contact with was Severus – Draco visited his grave every week. He sometimes saw Crabbe and Goyle there – well, their headstones, anyway.

All in all, it was a rather sad life. But at least he didn't have to see Pansy or Blaise (who had recently gotten married) or Weasley or Granger (who were currently dating) or God forbid – Draco shuddered – _Potter_.

Draco grabbed his wand from the bottom drawer and Apparated to St. Mungo's.

Well, really, if fourteen Muggles couldn't advise him on his health, then a Healer was his only option.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Just take a seat," said the red-haired Welcome Witch, gesturing at an ugly orange chair. "A Healer will be with you shortly."

_What was different between St. Mungo's and any Muggle doctor'__s office? Old magazines, uncomfortable chairs, faux-friendly receptionist, this place has the lot_, Draco thought, throwing himself into a seat and thumbing through a dog-eared issue of _Witch Weekly_.

He came to an article entitled _A Savior's Compassion_. A sheepishly grinning Potter looked up at Draco from under the heading.

_Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World, Boy-Who-Lived, hero, and Healer; the man famous for killing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is now saving lives._

Draco's eyebrows disappeared into his blonde hair as he slammed the magazine shut and threw it onto the table, earning a few curious stares from some people.

"Malfoy, Draco," said a voice quizzically from behind him.

Draco turned and found himself looking up into the ever-green eyes of one Harry Potter.

"Oh, shit," he said, which pretty much summed up his present situation.


	2. Healer Harry

**REVIEW REPLY:** "_and whats the odds harry would be his healer lol_" – fifespice, the chances are very, VERY high. If my ending surprised you, then you don't know me at all! I mean, "_Hello, I'm Trish's OTP_" (:

**A/N:** Wow, just wow – I was overwhelmed by the response from y'all. Thank you to _all_ my reviewers.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Come on, then," Potter said, unfazed. Draco, who was still shell-shocked, wordlessly followed him down a short hall into an office adjoining the waiting room. Several people waved at Potter as he passed them, and he waved back; Draco merely averted his eyes.

The office was spacious, white-walled, but windowless. The chairs were mismatched – one was orange, one was blue, and the one behind the desk was Gryffindor-gold – and they looked very comfortable. A large abstract painting hung on one wall. A red vase sat atop a small white shelf, not unlike the one Draco had recently destroyed, except that bright yellow chrysanthemums filled this one.

"You've _got_ to be serious," Draco muttered, crossing his arms and slumping onto the orange chair. Potter – _Healer Harry_, according to the plaque on his desk – surveyed him with a look on his face that could only be described as amusement.

"So, Mr. Malfoy," he said, sitting behind his polished wood desk, on that _stupid, Gryffindor-loyalty showing_ chair. "What seems to be the matter?"

'_Damn it!'_ screamed a voice in Draco's mind. _'Why does that stupid green robe have to bring out his eyes so much!?'_

"Mr. Malfoy?" Potter pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Oh, just do away with formalities," Draco snapped, tearing his eyes away from Potter. "You're Potter, I'm Malfoy, and we hate each other."

Potter corrected him, "No, I'm Healer Harry, and you're Mr. Malfoy, and I could just be the one to save your life. What seems to be the matter?"

Green eyes met grey, and held them. Draco tried not to flinch under the gaze that was pinning him there, like a bug on a slide.

"I think I'm pregnant," he said quite seriously. Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hair, but he silently scrawled something on a yellow legal pad.

"I mean – yes, I've been vomiting in the mornings, I'm sensitive to food, and I'm always very tired…" his voice trailed off.

"How long have these symptoms lasted?" Potter asked, scribbling some more on the page.

"About two weeks now," Draco replied, casting an upside-down glance at the legal pad.

Drawings of ferrets, stars, swirls, and Galleons covered it. There was something drawn in the corner that vaguely resembled Dobby the House-Elf. Well, Draco _thought_ it might be Dobby, because there was a speech bubble next to it that read, '_I is here to serve you, Harry Potter, sir_'.

"Are you _listening_?" Draco exploded, pushing Potter's hand off the page and seizing the pad.

"Absolutely," Potter said, taking the notepad back without a trace of embarrassment. "Listen, Mr. Malfoy, have you tried taking a pregnancy test?"

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Potter sighed, bending over to retrieve something from the bottom drawer of his desk. Draco averted his eyes.

Potter straightened up and handed him a small box. He stood and ushered Draco out the door.

"Follow the instructions in the box. The bathroom is just down the hall, first door on your right," Potter said, "And then come back here so we can analyze the results. Okay?"

Draco stared as the glossy white door shut in his face.

"Git," he muttered. "Scarheaded git."

"I heard that," said Harry's voice from the other side of the door.

**.-xXXx-.**

"So, I just pee on this, right?" Draco asked nobody in particular. His voice echoed around the empty bathroom.

"Right, then. Thanks for your help."

**.-xXXx-.**

"Well," Potter said, holding the stick up to the light. Two blue lines shone on one end of it. Draco stared at the upside-down notepad on Potter's desk. He had torn the first page off and had started on a new one.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news, Mr. Malfoy?" Potter said, grinning.

"Give me the good news," Draco replied, covering his face with his hands.

"Hmm," Potter said, throwing the stick down on his desk and turning to wash his hands. "The good news is: you're not pregnant."

Draco's head snapped up to look at Potter. "Really?"

"Yes," Potter said, over the noise of the tap. "But, the bad news is, you've got a really bad case of the flu."

He returned to his desk and pulled out a stack of prescription forms. Draco watched silently while Potter filled them out.

"What made you decide to become a Healer, Potter?" Draco asked suddenly, watching Potter scribble suggestions on the bottom of the form. His handwriting was horrible – it looked as if someone had been hitting his hand with a mallet whilst he was writing.

"I don't know," Potter said absently, folding the sheet in half and handing it to Draco. "I just – you know, _did_. Okay, just get these medicines from the Mediwitch out there; you should be fine in a couple of days. See you round, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thanks," Draco said, as he was ushered out the door. He avoided Potter's gaze, and tried to quash the bubble of hope that rose in his chest when he caught a glimpse of the new sheet of paper on the notepad.

It was covered in hearts. Large hearts, small hearts, colored-in hearts, plain hearts, embellished hearts; hearts covered every inch of the page.

Draco grinned. He had a feeling that things were about to get _very_ interesting…


	3. Wrong number

**A/N:** I've got plenty of time and ideas in abundance. You're all in luck – they make for a _very_ fast, _very_ happy writer (:

And, yeah, I realize that this fic is a lot more light-hearted than the rest of the ones that I do. I kind of like this stuff, now. Not that I'm abandoning angst, or anything…!

**.-xXXx-.**

"Ah, crap," Harry muttered, staring at the door. "Crap, crap, _crap_."

He jumped to his feet, sprinted around the desk, and threw open the door. He ran down the hall, past the secretary (who was saying "Are you ready for your next patient, Healer Harry?"), past every waving fan in the waiting room, and came to a panting halt in the empty clinic.

"Sir?" asked the blonde Mediwitch behind the counter. "Is everything –?"

"Where – is – Mr. – Malfoy –?" Harry gasped.

"I just served him, sir," she replied quickly. "He took some flu medicine, painkillers, then left. Why?"

"_Damn it_!" Harry screeched. The Mediwitch ducked as a bottle exploded over her head, seemingly of its own accord.

"Uh – sir," she said, as glass rained down onto the counter. It had been years since Harry had lost control of his magic like that.

"What?" he snapped, fighting to keep his voice calm. She pointed at something over his shoulder. Harry turned around slowly.

"You called, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. Harry could sense a smirk hiding behind the pale, utterly_ kissable_ cover of Malfoy's lips, waiting to burst forth at any moment.

"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly breathless once more. "You – um – forgot something."

Malfoy's impending smirk faded. This was obviously not what he was expecting. The automatic doors were repeatedly opening and closing on him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I forgot something?" he repeated in a strange voice. He stepped forward and the doors closed behind him.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice getting stronger. "You – um – my heart – _here_, take this."

Desperate to cover his stupid mistake, he pulled a random box off the shelf behind him. He tossed it to Malfoy, who caught it easily and grinned.

"Thanks, Potter," he said, holding the box up so Harry could see the label.

Harry internally groaned: it was _condoms_. Not just a regular pack, either; it was a _jumbo_ pack.

"Appropriate, I think," Malfoy continued, smirking all the while, "For someone who, like me, has recently had a pregnancy scare. I didn't know you cared, Potter."

"It's my _job_ to care," Harry heard himself reply.

"You know," Malfoy said suddenly, taking a step towards Harry.

Harry took a step backwards and collided painfully with the shelf. Boxes rained down on him.

"I think," said Malfoy, his voice low and husky and – was that a _sensual_ voice? He took another step closer.

"You think _what_, Malfoy?" Harry sputtered. Malfoy leaned closer.

"I think that we should get together sometime," Malfoy said, barely an inch from Harry's face, "And put these to good use."

He pressed something into Harry's hand and, in a heartbeat, was gone. The automatic doors slid shut behind him.

Harry sat down hard on the boxes surrounding his feet.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" the Mediwitch asked, staring at Harry.

Harry continued to stare down at the paper in his hand. He was sort of wondering the same thing.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Oh, yeah!" Draco shrieked, dancing around his still-empty apartment. A pigeon nesting on his windowsill took off in terrified flight.

"I've still got it," Draco sang, pulling random pots and pans from his cupboard. He flipped one over and examined his reflection on the shiny bottom of the pan.

His gaze fell on the packet that Harry had given him and he snickered. And speaking of Harry… Draco felt in his pockets for the prescription form.

Draco felt in his back pockets. Then he felt in his front pockets. Then he ran over to his jacket and felt in those pockets.

"Aha!" he cried, pulling a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. He unfolded it, and stared.

The paper had his own Muggle telephone number written on it.

**.-xXXx-.**

"– And then he was _gone_, just like that! Why do you suppose he gave me his prescription form?" Harry asked, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he removed his meal from the microwave.

"I don't know," Hermione's voice was disembodied. "Ron, don't put the pizza on the floor. Ron? RON!"

"I, um, maybe I should go now," Harry said awkwardly.

"No, it's okay," Hermione replied. "Ron – yes, on the table! Hey, that's not what I ordered…"

"I'm going to go now, 'Mione," Harry said quickly. "Bye!"

He hung up the phone and sighed as he turned around to face his dinner.

A lonely microwave meal sat on a single placemat with a fork next to it. Suddenly, Harry wasn't so hungry any more.


	4. Supermarket socks

**A/N:** Finally, some actual stuff _happens_ in this chapter (mad grin). Again, thanks for the reviews and the love.

I'm, like, sick at the moment – stupid winter – and I thought, _oh, right, Draco should go back and try to find Harry. _And so he did. Only, he's lovesick.

If you can't understand what Draco is saying, I know the feeling. Once, my sister had a blocked nose, and she kept saying things about "eatid Ciddabod por ludch" and "goig to the shobs to bick up a cardigad".

**.-xXXx-.**

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! Stupid Muggles. Stupid Muggle transport. Stupid London. Stupid everything.

Draco sat in the relatively empty waiting room of St. Mungo's (_again_) with yesterday's Daily Prophet and a bad head-cold.

Stupid child-proof bottle that Draco couldn't open. Stupid pills for flying everywhere when Draco had thrown the bottle against the wall. Stupid St. Mungo's.

"Dis is so stubid," Draco muttered, glaring at the newspaper and throwing it to his left. It skidded over a short stack of magazines and landed with a _thunk_ on the tiled floor.

Stupid headache. Stupid Potter. Stupid, stupid, _stupid _Potter. It was all Potter's fault.

Because of course Draco didn't _want_ to be sick, even if it meant that he could see Potter again.

And of course he had definitely put those condoms in the back of his drawer, and he was not in the habit of suddenly shaking himself awake, as if from a trance, and catching himself gazing at the box longingly from time to time.

And just because he was in the waiting room of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries did _not_ mean that he was stalking Potter – _or_ craning his neck just to catch a glimpse of him – _or_ wondering if Potter would be wearing those green robes again, before realizing that it was his uniform.

And he was not at all concerned at Potter in any way, shape or form.

Because that would just be stupid.

"Malfoy, Draco," said a voice from behind him.

"Aboud tibe!" Draco snapped, jumping to his feet and turning around, almost knocking over the side-table as he did so.

Two pairs of hands immediately flew to right it. Draco's hands were shaking so much, the table fell over anyway.

There was a hearty chuckle and a pair of strong, tanned hands lifted the table from the floor.

Draco's heart was pounding – it was nothing to do with the fact that it was Potter – as his eyes followed the hands to an expensive watch… the sleeves of a lime-green robe… a broad chest bearing the emblem of a crossed bone and wand… wide shoulders…

Draco felt his heart shudder to a halt and the lump in his throat dissolve as a short, squat, balding man looked up at him.

"Hello," said the Healer.

"Hello…" said Draco awkwardly.

"Shall we?" the Healer asked, gesturing towards the hall. Draco nodded in assent, fighting back his disappointment, and followed the bald man through.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Excuse be, but is Healer Harry here today?"

The word 'Harry' was so unfamiliar on his leaden tongue. The politeness was foreign to him, and yet he _had_ to know.

Not that it mattered. Much.

The receptionist smiled knowingly and replied, "Sorry, but today is his RDO."

"_Dab_," Draco muttered. "Okay, well, thags."

"No problem," she smiled, tapping at her keyboard.

Draco sighed and left.

**.-xXXx-.**

He wandered the aisles of his local grocery store, buying the most depressing things: cauliflower, cereal and supermarket socks.

He let out a scream of frustration when he stepped into the cereal aisle. First, all the cauliflower was squashed. He didn't even eat the cauliflower when he bought it, and now he was annoyed at himself for being mad at the squashed vegetables.

But now the cereal aisle was blocked by a couple, their cart, and their decidedly mutual decision to make Draco's life a living hell while he waited to get his bran.

"Oh, no, honey. You don't like cornflakes, do you?" she cooed, placing the box on the shelf.

"Sweetie, if you eat cornflakes, I'll eat cornflakes," he said, snatching it back.

"Nooo, it's your turn to choose the cereal this week," she put the box away.

"Baby, anything for you," he snatched it back.

"I'm not fussed, really, darling."

"Neither am I."

"Let's just have the cornflakes."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Well, on second thought, Coco Puffs would be nice…"

"Drives you mad, doesn't it?" said a voice in Draco's left ear. Draco turned to see Potter leaning on a nearby shelf, watching the couple squabble.

Ignoring his now-rocketing heart, Draco grinned in reply and gave a curt "Hello".

"How have you been?" Potter asked him, tilting his head at Draco and smiling wryly.

It had been a week since they had last seen each other. Not that Draco was counting, or anything.

"Nod bad," Draco replied nasally. He took a second to glance at the items in Potter's basket: canned soup, pancake mix, one box of taco shells, three bags of tomatoes, and_ one bag of_ _unsquashed cauliflower_.

"Where did you get thad from?" Draco demanded, pointing at the cauliflower. Potter looked confused.

"From – um – the vegetable section," he said, shrugging his shoulders. Draco scowled at him.

"I wedt to ged the cauliflower, ad it was _squashed_. Why do _you_ ged cauliflower, bud we cobbod people _dode_? Do I deed a scar on by forehead to ged adythig deced aroud here?"

Potter looked taken aback.

"You can take it if you want," he said, pulling the bag from his basket and handing it to Draco.

"Oh," Draco said in a small voice, clutching the cauliflower in his suddenly-sweaty hands. "Thags."

"It'll cost you, though," Potter said pensively, tilting his head and looking at Draco with those annoying, beautiful green eyes.

"_Duh_, Podder," Draco snapped. "Gederally, people _pay_ for thigs wed they go to the supermarget, eved if you dode because you're Harry bloody Podder."

"I meant me," Potter said quite seriously. "You'll owe _me _for the cauliflower. Dinner."

"Didder!?" Draco cried incredulously. "Wid you? Are you _insade_?"

"Just as – you know – friends," Potter said, even though they weren't actually friends.

But Draco ignored this. He could hardly think, because of the sudden rush of blood to his brain. His heart thumped madly in his chest cavity.

"_Be_?" he repeated in wonder. "You wad to hab didder wid be?"

"Yeah, sure," Potter said, trying to sound offhand, but, at the same time, ducking his head, so that his dark hair hid his blush. "Tomorrow, at six? I'll pick you up from your place."

"Okay," Draco replied. Potter gave him a brilliant smile in return.

Draco gave him his address and, upon seeing Draco's watch, Potter insisted that he had to leave. Like, right now.

Draco sighed and stood in the now-empty cereal aisle, watching Potter's back as he jogged away. Suddenly, he didn't feel so sick anymore, and even the supermarket socks had a lovely rose-tinted sheen to them.

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** Supermarket socks are cheap socks that you buy at your supermarket. Duh.

If you _seriously_ cannot understand what Draco is saying (stupid blocked nose), then PM or review me and I'll send you a full translation.

Until the next chapter, my pretties…


	5. First date p1

**Review reply** Truthfully, I'm not much a fan of MPREG myself. But I _do_ love HarryxDraco (OTP!), LoverFaery.

**A/N: **Shmanks to all the reviewers, subscribers, yada yada blah. Just one question: do I have to change my post-HBP stories to AU, now that _Deathly Hallows_ has been released?

**.-xXXx-.**

_When you smile, I melt inside  
I'm not worthy for a minute of your time  
I really wish it was only me and you  
I'm jealous of everybody in the room_

_  
Please don't look at me with those eyes  
Please don't hint that you're capable of lies  
I dread the thought of our very first kiss  
A target that I'm probably gonna miss_

**- **_**First Date**_**, Blink 182**

Draco took a deep breath and let his head fall onto the marble counter with a dull _thunk_.

He didn't know how to feel. Everything was so horribly cliché – Harry had even given him a bunch of flowers, despite claims that this was just a _friends_ thing (even though they weren't actually friends to begin with) – and yet Draco didn't hate it.

Draco hated most things. He hated cats, and mornings, and Mudbloods, and bad hair days, and emotional girls, and clingy people, and people who depended on him, and being ordered around, and almost being forced to kill Dumbledore, and when people in suits wore ugly or mismatching ties.

He hated it when his mirror made snide remarks about his shirt – thank Merlin that this one was silent – and when the House-Elves burnt his toast back at the Manor. He hated the Ministry of Magic, and when his favorite jeans got holes in them.

He hated having to fight off twenty pigeons with Stunning Spells for his lunch (it'd happened once before; a seagull came and stole his sandwich moments later). He hated liars, and people with greasy hair (but not Snape), and bad Muggle romance movies.

Sure, he hated a lot of things. But he hated clichés most of all.

However, he didn't hate it when Harry was cliché.

He raised his head a few inches and stared at himself in the mirror. Grey eyes stared back at him, for some reason fearful.

Fearful of what would happen when he went back into the restaurant? Or fearful of what would happen afterwards, after dinner?

Draco shakily took a deep breath, composed himself, and left the safety of the bathroom.

"Hey," Harry – Draco was having a hard time continuing to think of him as Potter when Harry was currently playing the role of the sexiest thing Draco had ever seen – said airily, waving a fork. "Took you a while."

"You're tactless," Draco said, settling himself in his seat.

"Any other character flaws that you can point out in me?" Harry countered, setting the fork down. "We haven't seen each other in months, yet you find it necessary to criticize me already, and we're not even up to dessert so far."

"Yes," Draco said, stabbing a piece of chicken schnitzel with unneeded violence. "You're needy. You always need to play the hero; that's probably why you became a Healer. I get the feeling that, if I had to spend a lot more time with you, you'd drive me insane. You almost did, at Hogwarts."

Harry looked at him incredulously.

"But?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"But what?" Draco replied.

"There's always a but."

"There isn't one here."

"Then why did you agree to come?"

Draco took a deep breath.

"Because, well, no matter how much I try to deny it, you've always intrigued me, Ha– Potter. And this is just a _friends_ thing. Right?"

Harry looked so hot when he was embarrassed and confused, sitting there in his open-necked shirt and hand in midair. He let his hand fall to his lap and he muttered something by way of reply.

"What did you say?" Draco smirked.

"I said, 'it's a nice restaurant, isn't it?'"

**.-xXXx-.**

"So," Draco said, bracing himself against the cool breeze.

"So…" Harry replied, looking up at the stars splayed across the velvet sky.

They trudged along in silence next to each other for a while, with no definite purpose of where they were going.

"I've never ridden a camel," Harry said suddenly, turning to Draco in a pool of lamplight. "But I've ridden a Thestral."

"So?"

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

Draco shook his head, grinning. Stupid Harry with his stupid attempts at conversation, when all Draco really wanted to do was see if that mouth tasted as good as the words that dripped from it sounded… Or maybe just go home and sleep.

They walked on in silence. Their hands brushed a few times, but Harry snatched his hand away as if burned.

When it happened for the third time in the space of a minute, Draco turned to him and said, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"You know," Harry said, wearing that sheepish grin he was wearing in that photograph in that article in _Witch Weekly_, which had really started this whole rollercoaster of confusion. "I might get cooties from you."

_Cooties_… Draco was suddenly reminded of the jumbo box of condoms sitting on his bedside table. One look at Harry and Draco was willing to bet everything in Gringott's that Harry was thinking of it, too.

"I want to ask you something," Harry said, stopping abruptly again under a streetlight.

"I'm not stopping you."

"You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Believe me; if I don't want to answer it, I won't."

"Okay then," Harry said, fixing him with a penetrating stare. Draco gulped. "How could you possibly think that you were pregnant? You're a _guy_!"

"Thank you for noticing," Draco said sarcastically. "You might've also noticed that I'm a wizard. Believe it or not, Potter – Harry – we can do magic."

"But if you thought you were pregnant," Harry said, becoming increasingly more confused as he went on. "Then you must've had sex with another guy. And if you had sex with another guy –"

"Then that, therefore, must mean that I'm gay," Draco concluded. "And, to finish it all off, I'm a bottom. You don't need to be a trained Healer to figure that one out."

Harry stared at him.

"_What_, Potter?" Draco snapped, annoyed because Harry was just staring at him, not saying anything: not teasing, not patting him on the back, not shaking his head – just staring at him. "This isn't the Dark Ages, you know. People are allowed to be open about their sexuality."

Harry continued to stare at him.

"For goodness' sake, _say something_!" Draco shouted, scaring a few birds out of their tree.

"You –" Harry muttered, then shook his head.

"What?"

"You're a _bottom_?"

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** This is getting pretty long. I'm going to post part two of chapter five as a separate entry.


	6. First date p2

**A/N:** I think it's time for a good ol' injection of _drangst_ – Drama / Angst. Where've you been all my life, baby? I've gone far too long without you.

Thank you to all my reviewers, again. And if I can take an opportunity to rec a song: _Time After Time_ by Quietdrive. They are the sex.

Speaking of sex, some happens in this chapter. Non-graphic. Will NOT post the graphic version, as it will get me banned. So don't bother asking. Thank you.

**.-xXXx-.**

The door swung open before them, the darkness yawning ahead like an empty abyss.

"This is really awkward," Harry said, shuffling his feet and acting like the concrete was by far the most interesting thing in the entire world.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Because, you know, how do you say goodbye? I'm gay, and we're not friends, and even if we were, it's not like you kiss a friend goodnight, unless you're in the habit of doing that to Granger, even though Weasel would kill you, but if you do, I totally respect that. And it's not like this was a date. Right?"

Harry was looking at him strangely. Draco knew he was babbling, but he had a bad case of Motor Mouth and he could. Not. Stop. Talking.

"I mean, I'm not in the habit of snogging my friends, although I know that Pansy would really love that, well, she would if she wasn't married to Blaise, who is actually quite hot in a weird sort of way, but I wouldn't kiss him, and not just because he's straight, and I know Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't like it so much, but they're sort of _dead_ anyway, which brings me to Professor Snape, who is also dead, but he was my friend, and I think that kissing him could put him in Azkaban, so –"

Harry leaned closer. Draco's throat seemed to close up completely.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, and their faces were so close that if Draco just moved the tiniest bit forward…

"Y-yeah?"

He bit his lip as Harry moved so close that his breath ghosted on Draco's cheek, sending involuntary shivers down his spine, and whispered in his ear, "Shut the hell up."

Harry stepped away, grinning madly.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well, see you."

He made to step inside the safety of his apartment, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Harry's hand, of course.

"You can't go in there," he said suddenly, and there was a note of urgency in his voice that made Draco freeze.

"Why not?"

"Because…" Harry looked deadly serious. "There's a ghost in there."

Draco snorted. "I'm not scared of ghosts. I had the Bloody Baron as my House ghost. Like I need to be afraid of anything anymore. That guy made a dozen kids wet themselves every week, just by _existing_."

"You should be scared of this one."

Draco laughed derisively, but he was actually pretty bloody scared. Harry's hand on his arm was making it hard for him to think straight.

"Where is it?" he laughed.

"In there." Harry pointed with his other arm.

"Where?" Draco craned his neck to peer inside. He squinted into the darkness of his lounge room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Harry's grip on his arm had tightened a bit. He smelled really good.

Draco shook his head to clear his mind and kept scanning the room.

Finally, after two solid minutes of staring into the darkness and concluding that there was _absolutely nothing_ there, he pulled his arm free and spun round on his heel.

"There's no ghost here, you prat!" he snapped at Harry.

And, oh, no, Harry was really, really close again. He lowered his face so that they were on the same level – since when was he taller than Draco?

But now was apparently not the time for thinking, because all the blood was rushing to Draco's brain and certain other parts of his body, and it was all because of that look that Harry was giving him and oh, no. _No_.

"Boo," Harry whispered quietly, and _no_, that was far too close for comfort. Maybe if he just stepped back a bit… Or maybe if he stepped forward a bit…

Draco just gave up on thinking.

And then Harry was right there, filling his range of vision with green eyes and smooth skin and that stupid messy hair that Draco just wanted to run his hands through.

And it was okay, because the door frame was actually sort of nice when he was pressed against it like that, and Harry's hand cupping his cheek was kind of soft and rough at the same time.

And there was a desperation in the kiss that wasn't unrequited, and wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and directing him to the bedroom was the highlight of the night.

And, well, Draco hoped to Merlin that there wasn't a ghost in his apartment, because that ghost would be one pervy voyeur of an imprint by the end of the night.

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** Okay, so I couldn't bear to add the drangst so soon. Wait until next chapter, guys. It'll be a shortish one.

I was irresistibly reminded of Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing during the whole Draco-babbling scene. She says to Hero, "_Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither_."

And when I say "one pervy voyeur of an imprint", I am of course referring to that infamous scene on page 431 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ where Ron retorts, "When we come face to face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a shufti to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking them, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'"


	7. Cold bacon and broken hearts

**Review reply:** Why isn't Harry shocked that Draco is gay? Because Draco came into St. Mungo's thinking that he was _pregnant_, fifespice. What kind of straight man has a pregnancy scare, I ask you?

**A/N:** Wow, people keep adding this to their Alert lists. I should probably tell you guys now… There aren't going to be very many more chapters of this; three or four more, at most. This one is full to the line with the promised drangst.

And nobody's answered my question yet…

**.-xXXx-.**

Draco woke up with a sweet smell filling his lungs and a hand rubbing his back.

_Mmm_, he thought sleepily.

And then he jerked fully awake. There was a _hand_ in his bed? Usually when he woke up, the only hands in his bed belonged to him.

Then he realized that he wasn't actually in his bed. On the floor beside the bed, more like, with all the blankets heaped on top of him… And his companion.

His mind raced as he tried to remember the events of the night before… Logically, the hand must be attached to an arm, which must be attached to a shoulder, which must be attached to a chest, to which legs must be attached (well, Draco had _standards_ – he was not about to shag any paraplegics), between which, hopefully, there was something worthwhile.

He hoped.

By half-opening his eyes and turning his head just so, he could see out the window while pretending to still be asleep. Judging by the pale light streaming through the closed curtains, it was just past eight in the morning.

That in itself was weird. Generally his, er, _companion_ for the night would be gone by now. And then they would never see each other again. And then Draco would go to a different club the next weekend and find another one.

He steeled himself and rolled over to face the 'Morning After' scene number… Well, he'd lost count.

The hand on his back stilled immediately. Draco noticed that it didn't leave, though, and when he saw a bright pair of green eyes peering up at him from under a blanket, he was glad for that.

"Morning," Harry said pleasantly, through a mouthful of sheets.

"Hi," Draco replied awkwardly.

"Breakfast?"

"I've… Erm… Cereal."

Draco paused in thought. Was it really only _yesterday_ that he had bought that box of cereal, and Harry had gotten his address and given him cauliflower?

No, wait. That'd been two days ago. Oops.

"Cereal," Harry repeated carefully, seeming to weigh the word in his blanketed mouth. Did the word ever taste as good as the actual cereal did?

"Yeah," he replied, briefly wondering if Harry would let him sit on his lap and feed it to him.

Harry tilted his head and looked at Draco in wonderment.

"You know what?" he said suddenly, pushing the blankets off his face, "Screw cereal."

And with that, he pulled Draco into his arms and started kissing him hungrily.

I'm actually sort of hungry, protested the tiny part of Draco's brain that remained unfogged for a millisecond longer before it was enveloped in lust.

On the other hand, this was _much_ better than cereal.

**.-xXXx-.**

"So what happens now?" Harry said, sitting on the kitchen table and swinging his legs.

Draco looked up from the frying pan and said, "What do you mean?"

Much to Draco's chagrin, Harry'd decided to put clothes on, and urged Draco to do the same.

And then, when Draco had point-blank refused to, Harry had kissed him until he was too dazed to argue.

Stupid Potter. Draco wasn't sure if he preferred the Harry that made him take pills, or this new one that was apparently a male nymphomaniac.

"Do we do this again?" Harry asked, gesturing to the air between them.

"Do you want to?"

"Do _you_ want to?"

"I guess so…"

"Then that means yes, we do this again. Frequently, I hope."

Draco smiled and tipped the bacon onto a plate. It was amazing how he could suddenly cook, especially considering that yesterday he was so bad that he could've burned ice cream straight from the tub.

"I – I really like you, Draco," Harry said, suddenly blushing profusely.

Draco looked up, his smile fading, and their eyes met. Harry looked incredibly confused and utterly embarrassed. Draco had an unreadable expression on his face.

"I really like you too –" he began, but he was interrupted by a polyphonic ring tone from a Muggle mobile phone.

Harry pulled the offending object from his pocket and, with an apologetic glance at Draco, pressed ANSWER.

"Hello?" he said. He frowned and turned away from Draco. "Ginny? Yes… I'm sorry. No, no, I'll be home soon, darling."

Draco dropped the frying pan on the floor with a large _clang_.

"I'm sorry," Harry continued, not even turning around. "Yes, I know. I lost track of time…"

Draco knelt on the floor to pick up the pan, but every word from Harry was still audible.

"Yes, darling, I _know_. Tell James that Daddy will be home soon. Love you. Bye."

He turned around. Draco was standing in the center of the kitchen, a frozen expression on his face. His grey eyes were once again like pools of cold slate.

"Maybe you should get going," Draco said stiffly.

Harry blinked, then said, "Wait –"

"You shouldn't keep your _wife_ waiting," Draco snapped. "And I don't want to hear your explanation anyway. Go."

Harry looked at him sadly, shook his head once, then left. The click of the door behind him was like a resounding smack in the head.

Draco slumped onto the kitchen floor, glared halfheartedly at the now-cold bacon, then burst into tears.

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** And I know you're all going to hate me for that, so REVIEW!

I don't have anything against paraplegics… But Draco does, apparently.

And also, for those that read my other stories, History Repeating will be updated ASAICBB – as soon as I can be bothered. I've got endings for every multi-chaptered fic I do in mind, except for Chain of Hearts, which is _discontinued_ (because, just between you and me, it's a piece of crap and I don't like it anymore), and Scar, because that one's fairly new and I'm not sure where I'm going with it.


	8. Stupid coffee

**A/N:** I was going to be all, "Hmm, let's be evil and not update for a month"… You're all lucky I'm so nice.

**.-xXXx-.**

Stupid blonde drama queen. He always had to screw it all up, didn't he? He didn't know anything. He didn't understand.

Harry kicked the leaves littering the path, scowling. Taking a quick look round, he spun and Apparated home.

If you could really call it a home.

**.-xXXx-.**

Draco lasted less than a minute trying not to think about Potter.

He made himself a coffee and sat at the counter, staring despondently into the steaming mug.

Coffee was rather interesting once you examined it closely. Light brown swirls mixed with darker brown swirls, and there was light fluffy foam on top that was exactly the same golden color of Potter's tan… Which he'd had ample time to examine last night…

Draco swore and slapped himself.

Now, back to the coffee scrutiny: deeper down, there was pure black liquid, dark and smooth and rich like Potter's hair…

He slapped himself again. It actually hurt a lot; it would probably bruise later.

He sighed and tried to ignore the mug, which was the same green as Potter's eyes… It was much too bright for a mug, if you asked him, but absolutely perfect when seen with that skin and that hair…

Draco "accidentally" pushed the mug over. Stupid coffee for reminding him of Potter.

Stupid coffee for spilling in that stupid, stupid lightning bolt shape, just like the one on Potter's forehead. Even the coffee had betrayed him. It was enough to drive a guy insane.

Draco ignored the steady drip of coffee onto the floor. It was a stupid floor anyway. Stupid Potter, for making him fall in love. He slapped himself again.

**.-xXXx-.**

A week later, he was very much immersed in the habit of slapping himself whenever he thought of Potter.

Thinking of Potter made him sick.

Being sick meant he had to go to St. Mungo's.

Going to St. Mungo's meant that he had to see Potter.

Just thinking about seeing Potter made him want to run away.

Thinking about running away made him feel like coffee.

No, wait, coffee was _stupid_.

How about cereal, then?

Cereal that he had gotten when Potter was there, and he had teased the squabbling couple when all Draco had really wanted was to be like that; arguing about stupid things like which cereal to buy and whose friends to go out with that night?

Ugh. No.

Cauliflower?

The cauliflower that Potter had given him? The insanely unpayable debt of unsquashed cauliflower, which had led to him owing Potter dinner, which he had repaid and then that led to certain events last night?

Draco groaned and buried his head in his hands. The carrots reminded him of Potter. He was going to bloody _starve_.

The flowers that Potter had given him last night were beginning to wilt. Draco faced the other way and tried to convince himself that he didn't care.

He was _not_ in love with Potter. That would be just stupid.

He gave a scream of frustration, snatched the flowers off the table and shoved them into a vase. His _Aguamenti _charm went in the complete opposite direction.

The vase was red, just like the one in Potter's office.

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** Well, technically, I'm still evil, because that didn't really do much.

Draco's in _looooooooooove_… (:


	9. The letter

**A/N:** Okay, so I felt bad about posting that plotchapter. Take this as compensation.

**.-xXXx-.**

Draco stared at the piece of paper in front of him.

Two weeks, three days, fourteen hours, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds had passed since he had kicked Potter out of his apartment.

Not that he was counting, or anything.

Because that would just be incredibly stupid.

It would be stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, _STUPID_.

And Draco didn't _do_ stupid things, like fall in love with Potter, or count the days since he had last seen him, or imagine him with That Girl and his son – he tried not to cringe at the thought of a Mini-Potter – or lie awake thinking about that one night they'd had together, and wish that there had been a chance to have just one more.

Draco glared at the mug of coffee in front of him. This mug was resolutely red. Gryffindor-red. Potter used to be in Gryffindor…

It was the only mug he had, because the green one and the orange one and the brown one reminded him too much of Potter, so he threw them away. Even the mug with the Matisse printed on the side reminded him of Potter.

Even that really ugly mug that Pansy had given him as a joke, the one with a cat with massive bulging eyes and an emaciated body with the caption "I Hate Mornings" on it, reminded him of Potter in a weird, obtuse way.

And the coffee that he drank from the non-Potter mugs took every opportunity to remind him of Potter, and That Girl, and – what did he say his son's name was? – _James_, and everything that Draco was missing.

James! Honestly, what kind of idiotic, stupid, immature, talkative, loveable, stupid, beautiful, stupid GRYFFINDOR named their child after their father?

Draco tried to forget that he promised Father that his first child would be named Lucius, even if it was a girl.

This was absolute insanity.

_Dear Potter_, he scrawled on the paper.

Stupid Muggles, hadn't they ever heard of parchment?

He sat there for half an hour, staring at the blank space underneath. He heaved a sigh and began to write.

**.-xXXx-.**

Four hours later, he smiled to himself as he stuck a Muggle stamp on the Muggle corner of the Muggle envelope, not caring that it was upside-down.

He copied the Muggle address out of the Muggle phone book and marveled at the sheer weight of it in his hands.

He practically danced down the street at six in the morning. He hugged the postbox, even though he really missed his owl. He forgot to scowl at random children.

For once, things were looking up. He'd finally found the solution.

**.-xXXx-.**

Things were definitely _not_ looking up for Harry. He'd been fighting with Ginny a lot lately, without really knowing why.

He arrived home from St. Mungo's at exactly six p.m. They had started fighting again at quarter past six.

"I need _space_," he shouted at her. James began to cry.

"What's the matter with you?" Ginny retorted, scooping their son off the floor. "First you disappear for hours, then you stop answering your phone, and then…" she paused, frowning, then said in a small voice, "Harry, are you having an affair?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, trying not to think about the pale skin and arching back and loud moans and blonde hair of one Draco Malfoy.

"If you're not…" her voice trailed off, "If you're not, then what the hell is this?"

She was holding up an opened envelope with an upside-down stamp on it.

"That," Harry answered, infuriated beyond his limits. "That looks like a letter. I don't know what's in the letter. _You_ do, apparently. The funny thing is; it's addressed to _me_."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his voice. "It's not actually funny, because it doesn't look like it's from you. Because if it was from you, you wouldn't be asking what it was, even though you apparently know what it is and are asking a rhetorical question. So, pardon me if I'm wrong, Ginny, but it looks as if you're READING MY MAIL."

"You honestly don't know what this is?" she snapped. "Read it, then, and leave like we all know you want to."

"W-what?" he said, confused. He could feel his anger ebbing away like the low tide.

"As if you don't know," she screeched, throwing the envelope onto the table like it'd burned her.

"Ginny, wait –" he started, but she had already grabbed her coat and stormed towards the door, holding James.

"Call me when you're ready to grow up," she snapped. "Because, in case you've forgotten, we're _married_."

The slam of the door behind her echoed in his ears. Harry looked dubiously at the closed door, then slumped onto a chair and started to read the letter.

**.-xXXx-.**

'_Dear Potter,_

_This has to be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Besides sleeping with you, that is. Because, even though I know you're married with a son, I can't help but write you._

_That night in the restaurant, I wasn't lying when I said that you intrigued me.__ You have, for eleven years. Eleven years… That seems like such a long time now. That's half of my life!_

_Yet, at the same time, it doesn't feel wasted. Yes, I __still__ think that you're an uppity git with a hero complex, but that doesn't do anything to change the fact that I'm totally, irreversibly, irrevocably, permanently, kinda sorta really in love with you._

_And the worst thing is that I have absolutely no intention of fighting it._

_I don't expect my feelings to be requited. You have a career and a wife and a son to focus on._

_As long as I can help it, I'll avoid you. It'll just be awkward for the both of us._

_If you can do it without raising suspicion, tell Weasley – well, I suppose she's Potter now – that I said hi. Have a nice rest of your life, Potter._

_Won't be seeing you,_

_Draco._'

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** Two more chapters to go, guys! (:


	10. Paths cross and recross

**A/N:** And so I said to myself, "It's not going to do you guys any harm to wait a while for chapter ten… Unless you fall off the massive cliffy that I left." Nyah ha ha.

Well, I wanted the ending to be perfect. Can you blame me?

**.-xXXx-.**

**THREE MONTHS LATER****…**

Draco leaned his head on the wall and sighed.

"Malfoy, Draco," said a voice far to his left. He shakily got to his feet, using the wall for support, and followed the same short, squat, balding Healer he'd had the second time he'd come here.

As he followed the man down the hall, the receptionist averted her eyes. There were no knowing smiles today.

Draco turned the corner and ran smack into the person he least wanted to see, apart from Ginny.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy," Potter said. Healer Harry. Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever. He didn't look surprised, for some reason.

"Good morning, Healer," Draco said. The other Healer (Draco hadn't really remembered his name) looked between the two of them.

"Tell you what," he said in his annoying nasal voice. "Potter, you take Mr. Malfoy, and I'll handle Mrs. Longbottom. Deal?"

Potter craned his neck to look into the waiting room. Luna Lovegood – well, _Longbottom_ – sat in one corner of the room, wearing a bright purple dress and humming softly to herself while she read last week's _Daily Prophet_ upside-down.

Draco was fairly sure that there was no translation of Ancient Runes in the centerfold to excuse this – Luna was simply strange.

Even though Draco thought that Luna was an old friend of Potter's, Potter shrugged and said, "Deal."

He turned to Draco. Then again, maybe Luna was only an old friend of Ginny's.

"Okay, Mr. Malfoy?" he said politely.

"Yeah… Thanks," Draco replied, and without further ado swept into Harry's office and threw himself into the same orange chair in which he'd first sat.

One of Potter's eyebrows twitched, but he shut the door calmly and sat down across from Draco nevertheless.

Potter cleared his throat.

And then there was silence; long, ringing silence that thundered in their ears like a stupid Muggle train.

It was so incredibly quiet that Draco was sure that Potter could hear his heart thumping madly in his chest, even without that stupid stethoscope.

It was so silent that they could hear the other Healer saying hello to Luna in the corridor outside, and the sounds of Luna's footfalls as she skipped into his office in her ludicrous orange platform sandals.

Draco looked at the wall above Potter's head.

He looked at the painting on the wall behind him.

He tried to look at the sound waves that emanated from Potter's hands as he rustled his papers uneasily.

Potter had gotten out that yellow legal pad again and was drawing on it quietly, not that Draco noticed or cared one iota.

Draco looked at his shoes.

He looked at the edge of the desk.

He looked at his watch.

He looked at Potter's watch.

He looked at his own eyelashes.

He looked at a dot on his arm.

He looked at Potter's crotch – _NO, HE DID NOT_.

He looked everywhere and anywhere to avoid looking into Potter's eyes, because he knew that if he did, he would fall apart right then and there.

Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He finally chanced a glance at Potter's face.

He looked so tired. How could someone have aged so much in three months, two weeks, twenty hours, thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds?

His eyes, however, were sparkling and lively and just as beautiful as ever and… And staring straight at Draco.

He felt like he was pinned in his seat by the force of Potter's gaze. He shifted uncomfortably.

Draco took a deep breath and reached for the legal pad. Potter, surprisingly, let him take it and flip through it.

Page after page held the beginning of a reply to Draco's letter, again and again scribbled out. Here and there a random circle dotted the page – Draco was sure that these were the marks of tears.

Finally, on the second-topmost page, there was a half-finished letter that Potter had seemed satisfied with.

**.-xXXx-.**

'_Draco,_

_If you thought writing a letter to me was mildly stupid, you have absolutely no idea how I feel right now, writing you._

_Because this is by far the epitome of idiocy. This is so bleeding stupid that it should be a crime._

_You said in your letter that I intrigued you. That I had a hero complex and that I was an uppity git, but you still were in love with me._

_I know __exactly__ how that feels. You're an arrogant prat with a superiority complex, and yet… I couldn't – I still can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop thinking about how it felt to finally hold you in my arms, and how complete I felt._

_I couldn't stop thinking about the frozen expression on your beautiful face when you told me to leave, and the tiny hope I held that, under that anger, there was sadness. That you possibly felt the same way._

_There was no way you could understand how I felt at that moment. I was so confused – I thought I loved Ginny, but then you came along and everything became complicated. It's not your fault in any way – and of course I love my son – but there is always this question hanging over my head._

_And then I finally figured it out – Ginny is my wife, but you are the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with._

_And then your letter arrived at the worst possible moment. And now I can't stop thinking about how maybe that was a blessing in disguise, even though I know that I should be Ginny's husband, and James' father._

_Though I don't really expect anything to come of it, __I think I'm in lo…_'

**.-xXXx-.**

The rest of the sentence was scribbled out.

"So, Draco," Potter said softly, not touching the pad that Draco now replaced on his desk, or giving any acknowledgement that it had been returned at all. "What's the real reason you're here? And don't lie. Please."

"I –" he started, but Potter suddenly sprung to his feet and swerved around the desk.

Before Draco could say anything, Potter was right there, kneeling before him and clasping Draco's hand and pulling him closer by the back of the neck, kissing him like he would never stop, kissing him so hard that it hurt, but Draco didn't ever, ever, _ever_ want it to end.

Ever.

But you didn't have to be a trained Healer at St. Mungo's to know that air was a necessity for life.

And you didn't have to be Draco Malfoy to know that life was a necessity if you wanted to really snog someone… Which, coincidentally, was what he wanted to do to Harry on a regular basis.

They pulled apart, but Draco's hands were clutching the front of Harry's shirt, so he didn't get very far.

"Ha-Harry," Draco gasped. "What –?"

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, trying and failing to act nonchalant. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I… The divorce just came through."

"Oh…" Draco said faintly, releasing Harry's shirt. "The – the divorce?"

"Yeah," he replied just as faintly, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his head on the arm of Draco's chair. "Feelings change, you know?" and then he looked straight at Draco. "But mine didn't. Not the ones for you."

Draco's heart hammered so hard in his chest that he felt like he was being jerked back and forth by an invisible string.

"Draco, all I'm asking for is just… One more chance." His eyes were so large and pleading that Draco felt like he was drowning in them. "I need you, Draco, I need you so bad it hurts to even _think_ about life without you. _Please_."

"That's the thing, Harry," Draco admitted, staring at his knees. "You didn't – I should've… We sort of… Well, I'm…"

Harry was looking at him expectantly.

Draco bit his lip and murmured, "I'm pregnant." He gave a short laugh and added, "I actually took the test this time."

Harry's green eyes filled with tears.

"Is it mine?" Harry whispered, his hand shakily finding its way into Draco's.

"Of course it is," he said, pressing his face into the softness of Harry's hair. "There was nobody after you. Always people before, but I never had anybody after I had you. Never."

Harry laughed softly, his thumb tracing slow circles on Draco's palm, and said, "That good, eh?"

"Nah, people just didn't want me after they heard I'd had sex with you."

Harry scowled. Draco kissed him lightly on the forehead and chuckled.

"I have to go," he whispered, as Harry's hand found its way under his shirt and began to rub his stomach gently.

"Okay," Harry replied, and the rubbing ceased. Draco reluctantly got to his feet, gripping Harry's hand for support, and waddled towards the door.

As he placed his hand on the door knob, Harry turned him around and wrapped his arms around him. Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, just breathing in the scent of his aftershave and fighting back tears.

"You're getting a little belly," Harry whispered softly, his hands gently rubbing Draco's shoulders. "That's our baby… _Our_ baby, Draco…"

A tear trickled down Draco's face. Harry pulled him closer for a fraction of a second, and then released him. He pressed a piece of paper into Draco's palm and gently wiped Draco's cheeks with his thumbs.

"I'll see you later," Harry said, but there was also a questioning tone in his voice.

Draco swung open the door.

It was still too early for rash decisions. He'd had enough of those; now he wanted responsibility. He wanted a steady career, or someone with a steady career. He didn't want to make the wrong choice, and jeopardize his and his child's future.

He wanted someone to be there for him during the long and lonely nights. He wanted to raise his child in a safe, loving environment, just like he one he'd never had. He wanted…

Above all, he wanted Harry.

He wanted Harry there to love him and for him to love. He wanted Harry to hold and be held by.

But could Harry provide him with everything he needed?

He looked over his shoulder at Harry, his face totally blank, and, before the door shut between them, Draco said just one word to answer both their questions.

"Maybe."

**.-xXXx-.**

**A/N:** And here you are… You just finished the second-last chapter… Congratulations. It's still a cliffy!

Next chapter: the epilogue. What is Draco's choice?

It'll be a short one.


	11. Draco's choice

_**WARNING: MAJOR FLUFF ALERT**_

**Epilogue**

Draco stared up at the white ceiling above his bed, one hand resting on his abdomen and the other pillowing his head.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, scowling at nothing in particular.

Was his decision too hasty? After all, it had only been a week and four hours since that day in Harry's office.

He thought he was making the right choice… He _hoped_ he was making the right choice.

He couldn't banish from his mind the thought of Harry's tear-filled voice on the phone.

Harry had said, "If you're sure that's what you want, fine."

It hurt Draco's head to think about Harry's eyes brimming with tears.

But now at least he could drink his coffee in peace. Draco rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

**.-xXXx-.**

"Budge over, you prat."

There was a clink and soft thud as a set of keys and something else landed on the bedside table; twin thumps as a pair of shoes was thrown at the closet (and they probably missed it by about three feet). Draco felt the mattress sink as Harry sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Budge over," Harry repeated, gently inching Draco forwards. Draco wrinkled his nose and rolled over.

"What's in the bag?" he said, gesturing to the white paper bag that Harry had haphazardly thrown onto the table.

"Your stuff from the clinic," Harry shrugged, removing his lime-green robes.

"That's the good thing about dating a Healer," Draco mused. "Illegal drugs."

"They're very legal, and they probably taste very bad," Harry muttered, lying down and suddenly finding himself with an armful of Draco. He pulled the blankets over both of them and sighed contentedly.

Draco jumped a little when a warm hand came to rest on his stomach, massaging in never-ending circles. It was Harry's obsession these days: Draco's belly.

Draco was silent for a moment while he linked their fingers together, and then said, "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" One green eye opened slightly to look at him. Draco looked, smiling, at the tiny slit of green, then decided against what he was planning to say.

"Never mind," Draco said, and then kissed Harry on the side of the mouth. "How was your day?"

"Boring," he said, his eye closing as he yawned. "One of my patients accidentally swallowed my ear thermometer, Merlin knows how, and we had to get Augustus to remove it. He didn't know how, and then Luna was in the waiting room, and she, of all people, got it out in the blink of an eye. I don't know how she does it. Did you do anything today?"

"Oh, yeah," Draco murmured. "I did a lot of thinking. About names."

Harry gave him a small smile. "What are your ideas, then?"

Draco appeared to deliberate the point.

"Let's call him Lucius."

Eyes still closed, Harry raised an eyebrow and said, seemingly stifling a laugh, "And if it's a girl?"

"Let's call her Lucius."

Both of Harry's eyes flew open and he blinked in surprise. "You're not _serious_."

"A promise is a promise," Draco shrugged. "I promised Father."

Harry shrugged and closed his eyes again. Silence for a few moments. He could feel Harry's heart beating.

"A promise is a promise," Harry whispered, his breath tickling Draco's ear. "So, I promise that, one day, I'll marry you. I'm going to marry you and we'll have a house with a white picket fence and maybe some siblings for this one, and then…" he broke off with a yawn.

"I'll hold you to that," Draco replied, grinning so hard he thought he might tear his cheeks.

"You do that," Harry answered sleepily, pressing his face into Draco's neck.

The beginning of their child was curled peacefully between them as Draco smiled softly and tangled his pale fingers in Harry's hair.

"By the way," Draco muttered into Harry's ear, receiving a soft snort in reply. "We need to buy more mugs."

**.-xXXx-.**

**Extended ****A/N:** Thank you SO much to everyone who's reviewed so far, and everyone who is going to in the future. Thank you to everyone who added me to their Favorites lists, Alert lists, etc. You guys are my heroes.

And, if anyone's wondering (which I'm sure you are, if you really care), the paper that Harry gave to Draco at the end of chapter ten was the prescription form that Draco gave to Harry in chapter three. Yes, he still had it, all that time!

So, guys, what are you waiting for? REVIEW! Review me NOW, or else… Or else Draco is going to go to your house and impregnate you!

_Wait_, that's not such a bad thing, is it?

Now, the important question… **Sequel, anyone?**


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